


buzzard and the backstreet boys

by Littlelionman15



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Inspired by Music, Living Together, Married Couple, Music, POV Rowan Whitethorn, Terrasen (Throne of Glass)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlelionman15/pseuds/Littlelionman15
Summary: modern day au, based off of sarah j. maas's statement that aelin would make rowan listen to backstreet boys during their car rides :)
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Chaol Westfall, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Dorian Havilliard, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Sam Cortland, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Chaol Westfall & Rowan Whitethorn, Chaol Westfall & Yrene, Chaol Westfall/Yrene, Dorian Havilliard/Sorscha, Manon Blackbeak & Dorian Havilliard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	buzzard and the backstreet boys

**Author's Note:**

> hi there!   
> i feel like that was a bad summary - but if you're here, welcome to my fic! 
> 
> to give credit where it's due, a great thank you is in order to @hazelgrace-winchester on tumblr; i saw the post shared on an instagram account and i was like, ahhhh this is too great not to be put into a few more words, so here we are, almost 1k words later. 
> 
> i hope you like the fic - i've had tons of fun writing it, rowan's 'grumpy and brooding on the outside but a softie on the inside' character owns my heart after this fic. 
> 
> enjoy!

_Buzzard and the backstreet boys_

Rowan Whitethorn did not like modern music – at all.

He’d gladly sit and listen for hours whenever someone took an instrument to their hands and began unveiling beautiful melodies, as his Fireheart once had when she dared him to break into an abandoned theatre. His eyes would still rim with silver whenever he’d think of the way her beautiful eyes turned crystalline as she preformed one of the most beautiful melodies he’d ever heard – the Stygian Spider, she called it.

Rowan was of the opinion that, when it came to music, had the song truly been beautiful, it needed no words to be sung – for the most beautiful of moments in our lives happen unspoken, as he witnessed every time he’d stir awake in the middle of the night and find Aelin sleeping safe and sound next to him, her golden hair unbound and those ethereal eyes slumbering peacefully.

So, no, even despite her best efforts to get him to like it, Rowan Whitethorn did not enjoy the songs published by the Backstreet Boys.

And yet, while he sat on the parking lot of the building in which his mate had been giving instructions on self-defense, along with Yrene Westfall and Manon Crochan-Blackbeak, he found himself humming along to the melody of one of their songs – I Want It That Way, or whatever.

It wasn’t even good music, Mala damn him. It had no true rhythm, no depth as classical music he listened to, had.

Occasionally, he’d cave in after a long day at work and just turn on the radio while driving home to his wife and their beautiful daughter, who had his silver hair and her beautiful, dauntless Ashyrver eyes, he could sometimes enjoy some Hozier as well. He had good music – fae-like in its very core, ethereal and beautiful and meaningful.

But the Backstreet Boys? Oh, gods above.

Dorian had introduced him to several new artists as well; artists whose music didn’t make him want to fold his Fae ears inward and hum to himself to block out the sound.

The young prince did it more as a part of his side job; he was an influencer on social media – another thing that made Rowan’s stomach twist into a Celtic knot each time Aelin tried to persuade him to open an account on them so that she could send him _memes_ , whatever in Hellas’s dark realm those were – who read poetry he wrote about Manon and Chaol and their travels and adventures to his followers on some days, and reviewed books on others.

That’s the story of how Rowan Whitethorn came to tolerate _Florence_ _and the Machine, George Ezra, Mumford & Sons_ and others alike.

And still, as he sat with the seatbelt barely strapped over his chest, he found himself tapping his fingers to the rhythm of I Want It That Way.

He could even hear her voice as she beat her fingers as drums on the window and on the windscreen and sang along:

_Am I your fire,  
Your one desire?_

He’d always find her sneering when she looked at him after she sang that part and he snorted, with a dip of his chin. “You are,” he’d tell her, kissing her knuckles, “my only and truest desire, Fireheart.”

So, there he was, the Fae male sitting alone in his Jeep and drinking his coffee – black, no sugar and no dairy.

Aelin always mocked him for it, as her favorite drink had been chocolate cake given liquid form; every sauce and cream you could think of, and then some. What was the point of drinking coffee if it was going to be everything else but coffee? And the damage it was doing to their teeth – horrendous.

Chaol Westfall had texted him earlier, sending a picture of their children asleep in a pillow fortress the three of them had built in the middle of their living room; his and Yrene’s daughter was two years older than Sammy, his and Aelin’s, but even despite the slight age difference, they were the best of friends – and they’d give hell to anyone babysitting them, except for uncle Dorian, as they called him. He always found ways to entertain the two daredevils.

It was a nice picture – the children were asleep, and Westfall was in the corner of the frame, his thumb raised. Rowan sent him a _like_ as a response.

Damn it, he was singing along to this blasphemous song –

And she heard it.

It took him one glance at his wife, who’d been standing near the half-opened window of the jeep as he watched the picture of the children, to know she heard it.

“YES!” she exclaimed, “AT LAST!”

Rowan unlocked the car door, barely suppressing the smile. She jumped in, reaching for the seatbelt immediately, and poked him in the bicep.

“Admit it,” she said, a crooked smile on her beautiful face, “you like them.”

Rowan rolled his eyes and sighed. “Now listen, they aren’t that bad –“

She cheered, throwing her hands in the air. “What’s your favorite song?”

He got the engine running, the headlights illuminating the garden of kingsflame flowers on the other side of the parking lot.

“Take a guess, my Fireheart.”

Aelin giggled excitedly, tying her hair into a braid, damp with sweat after the classes as she bit her lip and narrowed her eyes as if she didn’t already know the answer to that question.

Then she began singing the lyrics that brought her face up in his thoughts, dancing in the shotgun seat, and Rowan Whitethorn no longer held back his beautiful smile – not as he started singing along when they exited the parking lot and drove off into the sun-kissed road home.


End file.
